


Falling

by katestrophic



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Humor, Male-Female Friendship, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-19
Updated: 2013-10-22
Packaged: 2017-12-27 02:15:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/973090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katestrophic/pseuds/katestrophic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After landing a job with New Scotland Yard, Nora Luvalle is thrown into the path of the unknowable Sherlock Holmes.  Nora finds Sherlock insufferable and rude; Sherlock finds Nora boring and predictable.  But as they begin to fall, it's uncertain if either one will land safely.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

 

_**Falling.** _

 

 

**Prologue.**

_Dépaysement: When someone is taken out of their own familiar world into a new one._

* * *

 

" _Sherlock?" She whispered softly, trying her very hardest to mask the pain that flooded her body._

" _You've gained weight." The consulting detective replied as his fingertips lightly danced across the burn marks that covered her wrists, ignoring the hisses coming from her lips as he did so. "Seven or eight pounds." He finished, completely entranced by the damage against her skin and avoiding much more than just her eye contact._

" _Do you…regret…" she hesitated, it had been so much easier to say in her head. "Me?" The young woman's voice suddenly cracked as the last word left her tongue. Eleven weeks of heavy tension between the two had finally erupted. And it was now, of all moments, when she was donned in nothing but her undergarments because Sherlock never felt the need to knock in regards to her flat. When it was her last night at Baker Street, the final time she would ever see her detective._

_He was silent as his eyes shifted from her arms to her face._

" _Was everything…Am I…" she broke away, looking down at her bare stomach, overwhelmed with nothing but shame. She wanted him to hold her, to tell her he was sorry, to understand what he was doing to her, but this was Sherlock Holmes, the high functioning sociopath, the man who would never admit feelings, who would never admit weakness._

" _Am I…a mistake?"  
"Yes."_

"He said that to you?" Ruby Jones asked the same young woman who was sitting next to her on this seventeen hour flight. A conversation between two strangers on an airplane was not uncommon and when it was between two women, men were bound to come up. "That's the last thing he said to you?"

"Yep."

"The nerve of some men, especially to you, and on Christmas! That was yesterday, you know!"

"I'm very aware of that." She replied with an unintentional bitterness.

The elderly New Yorker then continued to rant and bumble about how her faithful husband of forty-seven years still managed to ruffle her feathers from time to time. But Nora Luvalle, with her slender fingers tightly gripping her cell phone, waiting for the exact second it was safe to turn on, only pretended to listen to her. Because today was December 26th and she was just minutes away from seeing her family, her new home, and a new familiarity that wasn't Baker Street or the violin playing at four in the morning or the severed body parts in her refrigerator or the impatient footsteps pacing above her bedroom.

"Nora?"

"Huh?" she nervously replied, her mind failing to focus on anything other than the nausea beginning to surface when the plane suddenly dropped several feet in preparation for landing.

"Are you going to be all right?" There was a blunt and almost insulting honesty in her tone. Ruby Jones, while charming, was just a stranger. Her skin was a dark, faded chocolate color that perfectly complimented her caramel painted lips. The creases along her mouth and cheeks told several stories and her deep, dark eyes held so many years in them. But in the end, she was just a face; a face that in a few days, Nora would unfortunately forget.

She was a forgettable woman, a stranger on a plane, but Ruby Jones knew more than most.

And right now, she knew more than Sherlock Holmes.

"Yeah. Charlie and Jude are gonna get me through this. I'll be fine."

"You're a lucky woman, having two older brothers to look after you." Ruby assured, gently giving Nora's thigh a slight pat. "I'm the youngest of eight sis-"

"Charlie is short for Charlotte." Nora interrupted, still unable to make eye contact with the New Yorker because it hurt too much. It had been months since that first night at Baker Street but it remained so vivid in her mind.

" _Sorry to disappoint you, Mr Holmes but Charlie is short for Charlotte."_  
 _"Charlotte is your older sis-"_  
 _"Mhm!_ "  
" _Damn_!"  
 _"You okay?"_  
 _"Again! Sister?! It's always something…"_

Nora looked Ruby at now, for the first time in several minutes, and she was incredibly frustrated. Not by the gossip or the envy of a long lasting marriage. Ruby had brought her back to reality, and reality was heartbreaking. She wasn't in the upstairs flat. She wasn't with John doing whatever the hell they would probably be doing. She wasn't clinging on to Sherlock's wrists as they ran through the streets, each breathless pant between them intertwining with a silent smile and his eyes occasionally looking back to her. Those eyes that challenged the beauty of stars and always claimed victory, she would never see them again. And that made her want to cry, because she would always have to settle for second best. She was leaving London. She was leaving them. Her best friend and her…

_Mistake._

"Do you wanna see a picture of him?" She whispered absentmindedly, staring out of the window. Nora started digging into her satchel before she could properly accept or decline because really, it wasn't Ruby she was asking. Ruby was expecting a Polaroid, maybe a four by six print of the so called 'consulting detective' but in a pleasant surprise, a sketchbook was pulled out. There was franticness in Nora's fingertips as she brushed past the dozens of delicate pages until she got to a certain one near the back.

This was her favorite. The drawing of the man and his instrument, playing so passionately, so brilliantly, into the lonely hours of the night. Nora stared at it for a second before scooting it over for Ruby to properly see. There was a lurch in her stomach as she gazed at it. The memory of the night she drew it flooded her into her mind, as if she was right back in that room watching him as he played. She sketched delicately, trying to perfect every curl of his hair, trying so hard to get the arch of his cheekbones just right. He'd closed his eyes as he glided the bow across the strings; he was lost in his thoughts, in his music. It was the only time he ever seemed at peace and Nora was desperate to convey that beauty in her recreation of him.

"That's him? He's quite handsome." Ruby commented, her eyes taking in every detail of the dark haired, slender musician. Nora sighed quietly as she closed her eyes, remembering.

" _You play beautifully. Is that an original piece?"_  
 _"Yes. I compose when I'm thinking."_  
 _"Your thoughts must be just as equally beautiful then."_  
 _"If you find incredibly, intense complexities to be beautiful, then I suppose…you'd be correct."_  
 _"Oh I do, Mr. Holmes."_

She remembered that night like it had just happened though it was months ago now. She had stared at him all night; he'd seemed so comfortable under her scrutinizing gaze. She was studying him, taking all of him in. He was never more beautiful to her than in that moment and she wanted to remember him just as he was in that brief crack in time. It was just him and her in all the world. No one else mattered. No one else even existed. It was like the world fell away and all there was was him. She knew he'd never return her feelings but she couldn't help it. She just let the warm feeling of being near him envelope her because in that moment, she was happy.

And then her eyes snapped open. It hurt too much to remember something so wonderful when nothing was anymore.

"Yeah…that's Sherlock Holmes." She replied in a hoarse whisper, her right hand making contact with the face of the man on the paper. It was a small but incredibly desperate reach, as if he were there because she wanted him to be. She wanted to see the intense look that adorned his face when he completely lost himself in his own thoughts; she wanted to hear the gorgeous melodies that flooded the entire building without a single interruption or request to cease. But above everything else, Nora wanted nothing more than for him to actually feel her hand, her fingers against the cold, porcelain skin on his cheekbones. Because she needed to feel him. Because she never would again. Because the only time she did, those few desperate nights in September, seemed so far away now. It all felt like a dream, like she was remembering the memories of a stranger. Mile by mile, he was slipping away from her. He was only a memory now and she couldn't bear it.

_"Nora..."_   
_"Sherlock Holmes, you are…"_   
_"A freak?"_   
_"No. Never. You are…the most… incredibly intense, complex man I've ever met."_

Because those days.  
The consequences of those days.  
It hurt too much.

Ruby continued to chatter but her voice faded away as the memories started flashing one by one in her mind. She knew thinking of these things would only serve to cause her more pain. But clearing her mind of her life with John and Sherlock was like trying to stop the world from turning. A sickening feeling washed over her as she thought to herself that this is what it must feel like to have your life flash before your eyes. All the good and all the bad was coming back to her no matter how hard she tried to stop, no matter how much she wanted to forget.

She'd been so caught up in remembering that night that she hadn't even noticed the plane had landed. Somewhere in the background of her thoughts, she could hear the flight attendant over the loud speaker.

"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Omaha Eppley Airport. Local time is 11:13 p.m. and the temperature is currently 61 degrees."

" _It would be in everyone's best interest if you went back to The States. You can't be allowed to stay here any longer."_  
 _"Mycroft, please… please don't make me go."_  
 _"To ensure safety for the both of you, there is no other option."_

The tears welled in her closed eyes. She turned her head completely to the left to avoid being seen.

"For your safety and comfort, we ask that you please remain seated with your seat belt fastened until the Captain turns off the Fasten Seat Belt sign. This will indicate that we have parked at the gate and that it is safe for you to move about."

" _What does it say, John?"  
"Positive, Nora. It says positive."_

She should have been overjoyed when all she was miserable. She'd been forced to give up her happiness to protect another. She knew it was for the best, but it didn't seem like it now. Nothing seemed the best anymore.

"Please check around your seat for any personal belongings you may have brought onboard with you and please use caution when opening the overhead bins, as heavy articles may have shifted around during the flight."

" _Mr. Archer, on the count of three, shoot Ms. Luvalle."_  
 _"Sherlock!"_  
 _"What?!"_  
 _"I don't know the code!"_

Regret and anger pooled in her. She wanted to lash out; she wanted the world to know how unfair this all was. How could he have done this to her? Why had she been so easy to throw away? Had she meant nothing to him at all?

" _Am I…a mistake?"  
"Yes."_

She suppressed a sob when she remembered that she hadn't.

"If you require deplaning assistance, please remain in your seat until all other passengers have deplaned. One of our crew members will then be pleased to assist you."

" _I'm so sorry to bother you, Miss, but is this seat taken?"_  
 _"No no, go ahead. Take it."_  
 _"Thank you. I'm Jim by the way."_

She wanted her life back. She wanted her happiness back. But he snatched it away like a thief under a cloak of darkness. Everything changed when she met _him_.

"We remind you to please wait until inside the terminal to use any electronic devices."

_"I will burn…the heart out of you."_   
_"I have been reliably informed that I don't have one."_   
_"But we both know that's not quite true."_

She had wanted so badly for Moriarty to have been right about that. But now, after everything, she was sure he wasn't.

"On behalf of Delta Airlines and the entire crew, I'd like to thank you for joining us on this trip and we are looking forward to seeing you on board again in the near future. Have a nice night."

Her head began to spin with the enormity of what had happened. What was happening. What would soon happen. Her past, present, and future came crashing down on her and it killed her to know that after all that had happened between them, all the pain he'd caused her, all the times he'd shown her how much he didn't care, that he was still the most important thing on her mind. It killed her that she still cared about him.

" _Look after him, John."_

"Nora!"

Nora jumped slightly at the urgency of the speaker. Ruby was hovering over her like a mother over a sick child. It made her uneasy to have her so close.

"Snap out of it, child. The plane's empty. You got people waitin', don't ya?" Ruby was a little too comfortable with Nora for her own liking and she was suddenly very relieved to know that she'd never have to see her again. She looked confusingly around the plane as she remembered where she was. Not London, not anymore. Omaha, right back where she started. John and Sherlock wouldn't be waiting; instead it would be Charlie and Jude. As she regained her composure, Nora realized she'd been forcefully gripping the seat handles. Her fingers creaked as she loosened her grip and rose slowly to exit the plane. She remained silent as Ruby stared at her. She pulled her bag from the overhead bin and brushed past Ruby as she walked down the aisle and into the airport. She never said goodbye.

She looked around the airport as she wheeled her carry on behind her. It felt as though it weighed a ton in her limp arm. She had no more energy left in her after the last 48 hours. She'd barely eaten during the last two days and she'd gotten only a couple hours of sleep. She was exhausted, mentally and physically. All she wanted to do right now was lay down and sleep away the next few weeks.

The small Omaha airport looked like it hadn't been renovated since the 90's. There was only one convenience stand in the middle of the terminal past the security checkpoint with waiting areas surrounding it. Save for the people on her flight, there were only employees in the airport. She stepped to the side in one of the waiting areas as the people from her flight milled out of the gate. Most of them were relieved to finally be off the flight and get to their loved ones. But Nora suddenly had a queasy feeling at the thought of seeing her brother and sister. They'd be happy to see her after all this time. They'd dote on her and ask what it was like living in London. Did they really drink that much tea? What was it like to have cars on the left side of the road? You ever get lost on the subway? Fish and chips and pints and did they seriously call them fags? They can't really call them that…

It was so overwhelming to even think about. She sat down in one of the seats and just stared. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ruby Jones hesitate near her and then keep moving on. She didn't know if she could walk out there to those happy faces. She looked around and saw that there was no one. She was alone for the first time in over a day and she felt at the same time relieved and haunted. She just sat and breathed. Her first free breaths since leaving Baker Street. But looking around again at the small, empty airport made her pine for the expanse of London. All she'd ever wanted when she was younger was to get out. And now, she was right back where she started. Had she really been gone? Had she really lived in London for nearly two years? Had any of this really happened? But more importantly, what would happen next? She shut her eyes tight and tried to command her screaming thoughts to just shut up already and give her some peace when a sweet voice called out at her.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Nora looked up bewildered at the young woman who'd interrupted her thoughts. She had long, straight blonde hair and was wearing a uniform. The expression on Nora's face must have changed what the girl was going to say. He face went from looking civil and polite to looking concerned.

"Are…you all right?" The girl asked Nora.

"I'm fine," Nora answered in a monotone voice. The girl was not convinced. She sat down next to Nora who was oddly comforted by this stranger's presence.

"Um…listen. The staff usually don't let people sit here alone this late. No one around to watch the stuff," she said as she waved her hand towards the convenience stand in the center of the room. "But…you take your time." It was as though the girl knew something Nora didn't, as though she looked right through her and understood that all Nora really needed was a minute to herself. A minute to breath and think and cry and mourn what was dead and gone. She put her hand reassuringly on Nora's shoulder before she got up and walked away. The click on her heels against the hard tile floors echoed after her.

Nora's eyes welled with tears as she watched the girl leave. The stranger had offered her more comfort in her few words and the promise of a moment's solitude than anyone had before her. The girl was kind to her in a way that  _he_  never had been and it made her heart break because of it. She finally let it out as the first tear fell silently down her face. She sat in the chair as she cried for all the things that would never be, all the memories she'd never make with John, the closure she'd never feel with Sherlock. It was all gone.

Her tree in Regent's Park. Gone.

Bakerloo Line. Gone.

Sainsbury's. Gone.

The British Museum. Gone.

Baking with Mrs Hudson. Gone.

Trying to explain what ranch dressing was.  Gone.

Sunday roasts with John.  Gone.

Sherlock examining God-knows-what in the microscope.

Sherlock listening to Glenn Miller with me.

Sherlock giving me that look because Anderson's talking. Again.

Sherlock barging in to say there's a case.

Sherlock arguing over "zebra" and "bathroom" and "chips" and "pants."

Sherlock yelling that the kettle's on.

Sherlock playing the violin.

Gone. Gone. Gone. It was all gone.

The weight of it all was too much. And so she just cried. Because there was no forgetting any of it. Because there was no getting any of it back.

Several minutes passed while Nora sat in the chair. She'd leaned over so her elbows were digging into her knees. She didn't look up until she'd heard her phone ring that she'd received a new message. She wiped her eyes and winced as the blood began to flow into her legs again. As she reached for her phone, she got that excited feeling in the pit of her stomach. Her subconscious was telling her that there was no way it could be Sherlock, but what did that matter when the possibility existed? She held the phone in her hand for a few moments before plucking up the courage to turn it on. She kept telling herself that he had texted her. Surely by now, he'd figured out that she was gone. Maybe, just maybe, he felt ashamed, he felt regret, for everything he had said, everything he had done. It could be fixed. It could be resolved. And she could come home.

She had to check her phone. She had to know. Right now.

She flipped the phone on and let out a shaky, excited breath.

**3 New Messages.**

_Please…_

**Text me when you've landed. -JW**

**2418 Ravenwood Rd. -MH**

**We're here and waiting! : ) –CL**

That was the breaking point. This hurt more than anything ever had before. More than the burns against her delicate flesh, more than those last words exchanged. The truth was so heavy against her chest that Nora was thankful she was sitting down or else her legs would have given out from under her.

She remained silent, not moving, not feeling. This was her reality. She was in Omaha and life would have to go on without him. Charlotte and Jude were here, they would get her through this. But she knew it wouldn't be enough, not for her. She was giving up so much, sacrificing everything. And he would never know, he could never know. And in this moment, she hated him for it.

**New Message To: Sherlock Holmes**

**Goodbye, Sherlock. -NL**


	2. Chapter 1

_**Falling.** _

__

**Chapter One.  
A Study in Pink. Part I.**

_Trouvaille: Something lovely discovered by chance._

* * *

The plane ride had been excruciating. She had been simultaneously excited to begin her life in England and nervous about riding in a plane for so long. She never liked planes and her brother and sister had to constantly reassure her that nothing was going to happen.

"You know, statistically you're mo-"

"Jude, I know all about your statistics."

She smiled as she remembered her brother and his numbers. They were his favorite thing in the world, next to Reese's Peanut Butter Cups and zombie movies. And his sisters, he never forgot to coyly add that in.  She had side eyed him in the airport as he tried to mention for probably the 30th time that Nora was statistically more likely to die in a car accident than she was in a plane crash.   They, of all people, knew that.  But as annoying as she found Jude's numbers, she still savored it. This would be the last time she'd see her brother and sister for quite some time.  Because today was the day that Nora Luvalle was finally leaving Omaha, Nebraska.  Today was the day she was beginning her life.

Her only family left was her brother and sister, Jude and Charlie.  Both were older than her and both were feeling the strongest sense of apprehension at letting their baby sister leave. They knew they'd have to let her go sometime, that she'd always had ambitions outside of Omaha, but that didn't mean they had to like it.

Jude Luvalle hovered over his petite younger sisters with a solid six foot, slender build.  He donned a full head of ruffled chestnut hair that even at 32 years old made the giddiest of preteens swoon harder than for the most current pop star.  His dark eyes, the same hazelnut brown shared with his sisters, were cold and borderline unforgiving, hiding the deep love and compassion that only Nora and Charlie could see.  His eyes were wide, handsomely contrasting his sharp nose and cheekbones.  His thin lips rarely formed a smile.  He was harsh because he had to be. Because life had been so unfair.

Then there was Charlotte Luvalle.  Her classic beauty and genuine intelligence masked by a slang tongue and foul mouth.  Her natural dark hair only visible at the roots, hidden underneath layers upon layers of dyed platinum blonde locks that were always styled to perfection and made her siblings question if she ever slept.  Her patient, kind eyes popped against the black eyeliner that surrounded them while her pouty, soft pink lips held all of her secrets.  She stood just inches above Nora, a physical reminder that she was, in fact, the older sister.

They were all she had.

On the plane ride over, Nora kept replaying her goodbye with Charlie and Jude over and over in her head, not because she was sad to say goodbye, but because she was so happy that she had such supportive siblings.

Nora had tried to be strong as Charlie and Jude walked her through the airport to the security checkpoint.  She had walked in front of them and couldn't see that her older siblings had to hold each others' hands to find the courage to watch her walk away.  When their parents had died, Nora was so small, only 8; Charlie and Jude had been 12 and 16. They had all been so young, but had to grow up so quickly.  To let the girls be girls a little bit longer, Jude took on the caretaker role.  He played father to girls he should have been brother to, and though it hadn't pained him to do it, he still sometimes felt the anger and ache of having lost so much in such a short amount of time.  But he loved his sisters more than anything and he gave all he had to make sure they were happy and whole.  He had squeezed Charlie's hand for strength and looked over at her as she started to cry silently. It was then that Nora dropped her suitcase and turned back to them. She ran into Jude's arms and clutched as him, half crying, half laughing.

"What am I supposed to do without you two?" Nora said against Jude's chest. Jude had buried his face in her hair as a memory flooded his mind of the time he took Nora to the park when she was nine.  A kid pushed her down and she skinned her knee on the pavement.  Nora had started crying for Dad and it broke his heart that neither their mother nor their father would be around to kiss away tears or bruises or loneliness again; he had so many memories to draw from and she had so little.  He ran to her and held her like he was holding her now.  He had cried with her and told her he would never leave her, that he would always love her.  It was the moment they began to heal and though he was sure she had long forgotten it, Jude knew he never would.

"You'll be fine, Nora. You're a lot stronger that you think you are," he whispered into her ear.  She pulled away but they still kept their arms around each other.  Charlie stroked her hair behind her ear and Nora turned to face her.

Charlie had wiped the tears away before she shrugged and joked, "I dunno. Live?"  She smiled at Nora warmly, the way their mother used to.  Long ago, Nora used to hate that Charlie reminded her so much of their mother.  It made her all too aware of what she'd lost, what they'd all lost.  But as she grew up, she began to accept these random reminders as their mother and father's way of letting her know they were still with her, they were still alive somewhere watching over them all.  It made her infinitely happier to think her parents were with her today after all.

"I love you both.  So much," Nora said as she pulled her brother and sister into a hug.  She stood in the middle of them and took every inch of them in. Their warmth, their love, their support and encouragement. She couldn't have found the courage to do this without them and she would be grateful until the end of her days.

"You two are my favorite people," Nora said, half laughing, half sobbing, as she finally pulled away from them.

"I know what you mean," Jude replied as he looked back and forth at his little sisters.  "I think you two are pretty cool, too," he joked as he wiped away a stray tear.

"Attention Delta passengers, boarding will now begin for Flight 895 to Chicago O'Hare."

Nora turned around as she heard the woman over the loudspeaker announce her flight. She turned back and let out a shaky sigh as she smiled anxiously at Charlie and Jude.

"Ok, now remember," Charlie started, "no sex with weird dud-"

"Charlotte!" Jude exclaimed as a look of embarrassment flashed over his face.  He knew his sisters weren't nuns, but it still creeped him out to hear about it.

"Shut up, Jude," Charlie said without breaking eye contact with Nora.  She lightly slapped him with the back of her hand on his shoulder as she continued.  "Gotta give my sisterly advice." Nora laughed at how uncomfortable Jude was.

Charlie lowered her head down so she was eye level with Nora and put her hands on her shoulders as she began, "No sex with weird dudes, ya know, you can't let that accent seduce you." The two of them shook their heads at one another exaggeratedly.

"No, you don't speak English, Mr or Mrs Street Hustler." Charlie widened her eyes at Nora to convey her seriousness while Nora mimicked her.

"And for the love of God, please look both ways before you cross the street."  Nora snorted with laughter at this last piece of advice.  It seemed like such a common sense thing to do when Charlie reminded her, "left side of the street, remember?"

"Oh yeah," she said under her breath.  She looked over expectantly at Jude, thinking he would have his own words of wisdom for her.

"Hey, just be good," he said as he pulled her into a final hug.  Jude was much taller than Nora and he rested his chin on the top of her head.  Nora closed her eyes and squeezed him closely.  She was remembering the time she fell on the playground after that kid had pushed her down.  She had cried for Dad, but he wasn't around anymore to kiss away her cuts and scrapes.  Jude had rushed over and pulled her into a tight embrace.  He held her as she cried, not for the cut on her knee but for the loss of their parents.  She had started saying how much she wanted Dad and Jude began to cry as he told her that he would never leave, he would never stop loving her.  It was the first time she started to feel better about their deaths because she knew she had Jude and Charlie.  She knew they'd be together no matter what.  Nora was sure Jude wouldn't remember this, but she would never forget it.

Nora squeezed him tightly as she remembered.  He kissed her forehead, "just try not to break too many hearts, ok kid?"

Nora laughed as she wiped the tears away and nodded.  She turned to Charlie.  The two hugged closely and cried against each other for a few seconds.  Charlie pulled away so that Nora wouldn't have to.

"Call as soon as you get the chance, ok?"

"Don't forget to change your SIM card.  I want you to call us as soon as you land," Jude intervened.

"Ok, ok," Nora answered, sounding exasperated.  She was sure this was about the 20th time he'd mentioned this.  Nora stood there for a moment as she took her siblings in one last time.  She couldn't bring herself to say goodbye.

"See ya later. Be back in a bit," she said instead.

Charlie smiled warmly. "Bye, sweetie."

Nora turned around and walked to the security checkpoint.  She sighed shakily as she placed her belongings in the bins to be scanned through.  She turned back around to wave at Charlie and Jude who had their arms around each other.  Jude put his hand up while Charlie blew her a kiss.

"You think she'll be ok?" Charlie asked her brother.

"I think she'll be great," he said as Nora rounded the corner and out of their sight.

* * *

Nora already loved the hustle and bustle of London and she wasn't even out of the airport yet.  Everything moved so quickly and was so noisy.  She stood in Heathrow at the baggage claim waiting for her luggage to come around, letting the English accents drown out her nervousness.  She couldn't quite believe what was happening.  She'd started her day in Nebraska and would end it in England.  Nora couldn't help but smile to herself; all that she'd worked for and suffered through had led to this amazing point.  She was standing on her own two feet in London, England.

She gathered her bags and made her way towards the exit.  She'd never hailed a cab before, but how hard could it be?  In Omaha, you were pretty much screwed if you didn't have a car; public transport was horrible and unreliable.  But in London?  She was so excited at the prospect of letting public transport take her everywhere she needed to be. She'd always yelled during frantic driving episodes that driving was single handedly the most stressful thing she could ever do and now she wouldn't have to do it for a long, long time.

As she made her way through the airport, she remembered Jude's insistence that she change over the SIM card in phone as soon as she could.

" _Vodaphone, Vodaphone, where the hell is that Vodaphone store?"_ She kept asking herself as she pushed her overflowing luggage cart.  After 20 minutes of searching, she finally found it.  Nora bought whatever it was the guy behind the counter told her to buy because technology just didn't agree with her.  She installed it and texted Jude.

**Awkward, plane crashed on the way over to London. Not sure how I'm texting you. - NL**

Nora slipped the phone into her purse with a satisfied smile.  She started laughing a little too hard and tried to conceal it as much as she could.  She knew she'd pay for that one later, but she just couldn't stop herself.

As she exited Heathrow, Nora saw that she wouldn't be hailing a cab after all.  Rather, people lined up one by one as an attendant ushered them into the next available car.  It was like watching a well oiled machine; everyone cooperating so they could get out as smoothly as possible.

Nora timidly went to the back of the line.  A young man was standing in front of her and turned to around at the sound of her luggage cart stopping in back of him.  Trying to make conversation before he turned to face forward, Nora asked, "the line starts here, right?"

"Yeah, the  _queue_  starts here," the young man emphasized the word snidely as he turned away from her.

"Queue…" Nora repeated under her breath, reminding herself that that was another one of the words she'd have to replace in her vocabulary.  Never being able to stand still, Nora started fidgeting as she stood in the queue.  She recited words in her head that she knew would be different.

_Chips instead of fries, crisps instead of chips, car park instead of parking lot, toilet instead of bathroom, trousers instead of pants, pants instead of underwear, boot instead of trunk…_

The queue moved quickly as Nora kept silently going over the words.  Before she knew it, she was the next to get a cab.  The attendant leaned towards the car saying something Nora couldn't hear as she was too preoccupied with getting her bags off the cart.  She looked up to see the cab driver making his way over to her.

"Here luv, I'll get these bags off the trolley for ya," the man said sweetly.  He was an older man, probably in his 50's at least.  White hair peaked out from his hat and he wore glasses.  He had a cockney accent, which Nora smiled widely at.

"Thank you so much," she said as the cabbie grabbed her biggest bag for her.  He pushed it into the back while Nora grabbed her duffel bag.  The man came back quickly and grabbed it out of Nora's hands.

"You just get yerself settled in the cab, luv. I'll get these in there for ya," he said.  "Go on, then."

"Oh, uh, thank you," Nora answered politely.  She made her way into the cab and sat in the opposite corner of the driver's seat so that she could make conversation easily with him.  He was her first Londoner and she was happy that he seemed kind and sweet.

Nora heard her phone chime at her just as she got comfortable and she instinctually knew it would be Jude.  She pulled her phone out and saw that there were several messages, mostly from Jude, but one from another number.

**6 New Messages.**

**Not funny, Nora. Call me asap. – JL**

**Nora, I know you're all excited to be in London but I want to know you're all right. – JL**

**You can text back any day now, Nora. - JL**

**Seriously Nora, answer your phone. - JL**

**Nora Rose Luvalle! You answer your phone right now! – JL**

**I think I found just the place. Check it out. 221B Baker St. – GL**

"Where to, dear?" The cabbie inquired, adjusting himself to a comfortable position in the driver's seat.  

"Um…" she hesitated, squinting her eyes at the tiny cell phone screen.  She had to get this address exactly right.  It was her first day here and no way was she going to get lost. "221B Baker Street….please."  She hesitated as her fingers responded hastily to Jude's message.  She knew he'd be worried to know she was all right, but he was venturing out of overprotective brother territory and into psycho brother territory.

Nora threw her phone into her purse without caution and sighed heavily.  She thought Baker Street sounded familiar to her but she couldn't place it.  Nora wondered where it was in the city, subconsciously hoping it wasn't in the suburbs.  What would the neighborhood be like?  Was there a park nearby?  Oh God, the rent.

She realized she was making emotive faces to go along with her thoughts, a layover habit from childhood that Charlotte took every chance she could to make fun of.  She looked into the rear view mirror to see if the driver had been looking at her.  She was relieved when she knew he hadn't.

"Excuse me, what part of London is Baker Street in?"  She questioned, eagerly awaiting a good answer.

"Baker Street is Central London," he answered over his shoulder.

"Yes!" She mouthed emphatically, savoring the fact that her new home might actually be in the heart of the city.  Now she only had to tackle the issue of rent and she was good to go.

As her thoughts calmed down, it was then that Nora suddenly became aware of the silence between her and the cabbie.  He hadn't turned the radio on and he thought that might have meant she could try to talk to him.  But what would she say?  He was much older than her and she'd always been better at observing than actually talking.  For a passing second, she considered pulling her sketchpad out to draw the man.  But she vetoed the idea before it really started to form.  More times than not, she felt she was being intrusive drawing someone who was within eyesight without their permission.  But mostly, she just wasn't all that interested in drawing him.  There didn't seem to be much of anything interesting about this man.  So conversation it was.

Do people normally talk to the taxi drivers?  Riding in taxis was etiquette one didn't learn in Omaha and since Nora hadn't traveled extensively yet, she wasn't quite sure how this worked.  She started to wrack her brain for something to say but she'd always been terrible at small talk.  No doubt Charlotte would have called him out on his outdated wardrobe by now, but what was  _she_  supposed to say?

 _Look around!  There's gotta be something…anything._  
Tell him 'I like your hat.'  
No.  Don't say that.  
What's your favorite sight?  
Small talk.  
Just say anything.  
Something.

"I'm Nora, by the way."  She finally spoke, leaning her body towards the driver.  "First time here, already got myself a job."  Nora cursed herself for bumbling like a five year old bragging about her favorite doll.  She should have just sat silently and admired the sights that she had worked so hard to see.  But no, the politeness that Jude had forced into her upbringing came first.

"Sorry?" the Cabbie replied with a hint of confusion in his voice.

"Um.  No.  I'm sorry."  She tucked her bottom lip behind her teeth and began regretting ever talking to him at all.  "Do people normally not talk to you?  Are they not supposed to? Sorry.  I've never taken a cab before...not sure what to say."

"No one ever pays attention to the cabbie," he murmured under his breath.  Nora had just barely heard it.  It was then that the air around him suddenly seemed to change.  He'd muttered in a voice that was somehow opposite of how he'd sounded at the airport.  He'd sounded warm and kind a few minutes ago, now he sounded chilling.  He cast a quick glance at the photo on his dash, turning his head slightly in the process.  

 _For the kids,_ he thought sinisterly.

Nora noticed the gesture and seized the opportunity to start a conversation.

"Are those your kids?"  She asked, nervously running her hands through her hair, breaking the recurring tension between them and trying to hide the obvious anxiety in her voice.

"I'm sorry?"  The cabbie repeated, this time in a tone that was barely audible.  He took another look towards the same photograph his passenger's eyes were on, answering her question without saying another word.

"It's ju-they're beautiful," she sputtered.  In truth, they were neither extraordinary nor unsightly; they were average looking children. But Nora knew that calling someone's children "beautiful" was always a good way to butter them up.

"Thank you," he said in a strained voice.  He didn't want to talk to talk to this woman and he didn't want her to talk to him.  That's not how this was supposed to happen.  No one ever spoke to him.  He reminded himself to just focus on his goal, on how he had struck gold picking up a young foreign traveler, and how it would be so incredibly easy to dispose of her.

Nora was beginning to think that he was only nice for show; she realized it was only in front of an audience that he'd spoken kindly to her.  His apprehension at speaking to her was demotivating and she was so determined to illicit any kind of conversation that she blurted out before thinking, "Do you get to see them often?"  She winced as soon as she realized she said it.  It wasn't her intention to be prying into his personal life and she wondered what face he had made at the question.  She tried reasoning with herself that if he didn't want to talk about them, he shouldn't have put a photo of them up for his passengers to see.

"Excuse me?" He sneered and raised his eyes to look at her in the mirror.  She wasn't looking at him but rather down at her hands jumbled in her lap.

He was going to enjoy this.

Hearing the insult in his voice, she quickly lied, "It's just I don't get to see mine often, just never around when I am."  She was nervous and looked into the mirror in case he decided to look back.  "And I…I hope you get to see yours often.  That's all," she explained, this time meeting his eyes.  They were now cold and emotionless, the exact opposite of what they'd been back at the airport when he'd taken her bags.

Suddenly, she was regretting speaking to him at all.

She awkwardly turned her gaze towards the window.  They'd finally entered the outskirts of the city and speeding past them were all sorts of different shops and eateries. Electronic stores, gas stations, corner food markets with fruit stands outside.   It all looked so different from what she was used to and she took the time to really appreciate it.

After she'd been silent for more than a few minutes, her phone chimed again.  She rummaged through her purse which wasn't an easy task as she'd stuffed as much of her stuff in there that would fit.  She had to pull out a book, her sketchpad, a pencil bag of colored pencils, a water bottle, and a makeup case before she could find her phone.

**Should warn you, the guy renting is pretty weird.  But if you give him a chance, he might surprise you. – GL**

Nora made a face as her interest piqued.  Weird characters made for some of the best drawing subjects and the prospect of a live-in one seemed so inviting.  She'd lived with Jude and Charlie her whole life and her sketchbook was filled with pictures of them.  Now she wanted to fill it with portraits of the new cast of characters she'd be living with.

She looked up and noticed the cabbie was eyeing her in the mirror again.  He seemed to be analyzing her and she suddenly felt very small under his gaze.  She smiled awkwardly at him and decided that any noise in the cab would help alleviate the tension.

"Just got a text from my boss."  She raised the phone up by her face so that the cabbie could see.  "He said he'd help me find a flat."  She felt odd using the British term, but though it might endear her to the man.

"That's where we're going to now, this flat.  I hope the neighborhood's all right," she said, absentmindedly twirling her phone.  "But I guess it can't be too bad if a detective is recommending it."

"Detective?"  The cabbie snapped.

"Uh, yeah.  Detective Inspector Lestrade," she answered.  "I got a job as a sketch artist for Scotland Yard in the homicide division."  He kept a strange gaze on her in the mirror and she smiled at him again.

"So you're an artist then, are ya?" He strained.  "Any good?"  Nora was surprised at his interest and squinted at him as she was trying to figure him out.  She decided to let Jude's manners rule her in this instance and not return the cabbie's earlier cold shoulder.

"Well  _I_  certainly think so," Nora boasted.  She pulled up her sketchbook and handed it to him as he stopped at a light.  She had known a couple of friends back home that hated showing their sketches to people.  They said it felt like an intrusion into their minds.  But not for Nora.  She loved showing her work to others because it was her way of showing them how she really saw the world.  This man was no exception.

"Oh!" The cabbie exclaimed in a high pitched voice every few pages.  He flipped through it quickly, either because he knew he didn't have much time until the light changed to green or because he just didn't care.  Nora couldn't decide which seemed more correct.

"They're beautiful," he said, mimicking her earlier words about his children.  "You really are good, girl."

The light changed and he turned his eyes back to the road.  She couldn't see it, but he was seething on the inside.  The girl might have been a foreigner, but she already had a home which someone would be expecting her at.  And more importantly, she was employed by New Scotland Yard.  Someone would be looking for her and the police were already catching on to the pattern.  And he wanted a few more.  A few more for his kids.  He glanced at the picture again.  Then back in the mirror at his passenger.  The girl, whatever her name was, was flipping through her sketches.  He watched the corners of her mouth curl into a smile each time she recalled the memory of a specific one.  He tried to, but he felt nothing.  So he just kept driving.

They stayed silent until they reached their destination.

"58 Pounds 70, please," he said breaking the quiet.

She silently cursed at how expensive the ride had been as she pulled out her wallet and handed the man £60.  She didn't want change, but she was still mildly insulted when he didn't try to give her any.

"Thank you," she said politely.  He smiled curtly, nodded his head, and turned forward.  He waited like that, not moving an inch, as Nora struggled to get the bulky luggage out of  the cab.

Nora was certain he'd had his foot hovering over the gas pedal as he sped off the second she closed the door.  She huffed her offense at him and stared as he drove down the street and rounded the corner.  He'd been a bizarre man who made her feel awkward at best, unsafe at worst.

"Rude," she whispered.  She quickly forgot him as she turned around and saw the address Lestrade had told her.

Nora breathed in sharply and made her way to the door. Butterflies rumbled in her stomach as she raised her hand to knock.  This could potentially be her new home.  She was hoping intensely that she would like the house and even more that she would make a good first impression on the landlord if for no other reason than it would be nice to not have to live in a hotel for very long.

 _You got this, Nora,_  she thought as she rapped loudly on the door.  Her nerves were working to get the best of her as she waited for the answer.  She started fidgeting in place and turned around to survey the neighborhood and the people walking around.  It all seemed like a dream, the kind that seemed so real that when you woke up you were sure it'd actually happened. She was still having trouble wrapping her mind around it all.  The sounds of the city were such a wonderful change from the sometimes peaceful atmosphere of Omaha.  Nora smiled as the English accents flooded her mind; they served as a reminder she'd really done it.

She continued to fidget nervously as she became more and more lost in her thoughts.  She nearly jumped when the door flew open behind her.

 


	3. Chapter 2

**_Falling._ **

**Chapter Two.  
A Study in Pink. Part II.**

_Misanthropy: A generalized dislike, distrust, contempt, or hatred of the human species, human nature, or society._

 

* * *

 

The smell of turkey on whole wheat and chicken noodle soup coming from next door was oh so tempting against the chilly January air.  Disappointing and unfulfilling plane food was never satisfying and Nora instantly regretted knocking as soon as she did.  It was so distracting, so enticing, and if it hadn’t been for the damn cab driver, she might not have felt so flustered.  She couldn’t think on an empty stomach and relief was just out of her reach.

  **Have you checked the place over yet? –JL**

 She wanted to ignore him but knew if she didn’t the texts wouldn’t stop and Jude’s attitude on top of a lack of food would only serve to irritate her more.

The door opened suddenly and Nora let out a startled gasp at the sound of the heavy door creaking behind her.  She turned to see an old woman standing in the doorway who was wearing a purple dress that came to her knees and appeared to be in her late sixties, maybe a little bit older.  She was short, petite, and met Nora’s eye level evenly.  The woman grinned widely at her and Nora noticed that though her eyes were kind and her smile was friendly, she looked as though she had been expecting someone and that someone wasn’t her.

 “Can I help you, dear?” The woman asked, her expression becoming more confused as she examined Nora and her luggage.

 “I’m sorry,” Nora said as she extended her right hand to the woman who returned a weak handshake. “I’m new in London.  My name is Nora Luvalle.”  Nora was surprised that the woman’s confused expression didn’t disappear but rather intensified.  She realized then that Lestrade must not have told this woman that he had sent her over.  Nora could feel her face warming up from the blush she felt creeping into her cheeks.

“Mrs Hudson, dear, pleased to meet you,” she said.  Mrs Hudson seemed nice and sweet, and it soothed Nora’s embarrassment at arriving on this woman’s doorstep unannounced.  She was so very different from her first Londoner; where her cabbie had been cold and angry, Mrs Hudson seemed nurturing and vibrant.  And though she was warm and full of genuine kindness, her confusion was showing no signs of dissipating.

 “Um, well,” Nora stammered, trying to find the right words.  The excitement of arriving in London was slowly starting to leech from her and she was becoming quite at a loss for words as her fatigue and hunger were setting in. “I was told to come by and look at an apartm – flat that you have for rent,” she said, correcting her American word choice.

 “Oh! Oh?” Mrs Hudson said, first exclaiming her understanding, then voicing a second confusion. She rubbed her hands against the front of her dress as she said, “Sherlock didn’t tell me he was bringing a girl round to look at the flat!”  She exclaimed cheerily.

“Sherlock?  I, I don’t know any Sherlock,” Nora answered, shaking her head in response.  Suddenly, she remembered the second of Lestrade’s texts about how “the guy renting is weird.”  This must have been the guy he had been talking about.  Forgetting her manners, Nora asked Mrs Hudson callously, “Is this Sherlock the weird guy already renting?”

 Mrs Hudson looked taken aback at the question.  She must have made a face because Nora regretted her words instantly.

 “Well, I wouldn’t call him ‘weird.’  Eccentric.  Perhaps a bit mad at times,” she chided.  She seemed to take offense at Nora’s words and it was at this that Nora saw that Mrs Hudson must be quite fond of this unknown person.

“Sorry,” Nora said in a small voice, looking at her feet.  “I haven’t had time to stop to eat anything and I get a bit cranky when I don’t eat.”

“S’all right,” Mrs Hudson began.  She looked over Nora and decided she meant well enough.  She sighed quietly, “I do have an extra flat in the basement.  You’re welcome to look at it, luv.”  Nora smiled widely at her as she pulled her head up.  She found she was quite taken with this woman and was very appreciative of her kindheartedness.  Mrs Hudson gave Nora and her luggage another look.  “It’s not in the best of conditions, mind.  But it looks like you need a place quick.”  She helped bring Nora’s bags into the foyer and ushered her into the door.

 

* * *

 

The two women chatted for a little while as Nora examined the downstairs flat.  Mrs Hudson had been right; it wasn’t in the best condition.

“I had a place once when I was first married, black mold all up the wall…” Mrs Hudson babbled as she unlocked the door to 221C. “It was absolutely dreadful, dear.”

“The marriage or the mold?” Nora joked, nudging her shoulder slightly against the landlady.  Nora laughed with Mrs Hudson for a moment before taking in the room again.  Twenty five years of dreaming all led up to this moment.  Ten years of working jobs ranging from washing dishes to working retail to babysitting and making coffees all for this.  She never went to college, she taught herself her profession because she needed the money and she knew she had the talent.  And here she was now, looking over a flat in central London.

“Will I be able to strip this?” Nora inquired, walking away from Mrs Hudson to look at the walls up close. She touched the wallpaper and thought it must have been put up before she had even been born.

“I’m sorry, dear?”

“The wallpaper,” Nora asked, turning back to Mrs Hudson, “can I strip it?”

“Oh, you can do anything you like, luv,” Mrs Hudson started chattering excitedly,” as long as you want the place!”  It became clear to Nora that the older woman had trouble getting people interested in this flat.  It definitely was a fixer-upper.  The wallpaper was old and tattered, falling off in several places around the sitting room.  The mold created by the damp of the basement left offending black marks up and down each wall.

But Mrs Hudson had also been right when she said Nora needed a place to live quickly.  While Scotland Yard had agreed to put her up in a hotel while Lestrade helped her to find a flat, she didn’t want to have to be an expense to her new employer for longer than she needed to be.  She was sure she could find a much better place, one not so in need to attention, but she was tired and hungry and her impatience at wanting a place to call her own was leading her far more than her logic.  If Nora agreed to this place, she knew she’d have her work cut out for her.

Just then the doorbell rang.  Both Nora and Mrs Hudson turned instinctively towards the door.

“That’ll be Sherlock finally, never can get anywhere on time,” she muttered under her breath.  She turned back towards Nora and placed a light hand on her shoulder.  “You just take your time, look around, luv.  I’ll just be upstairs seeing to Sherlock and his friend.” Her excitement at the prospect of Nora moving in was infectious; Nora found herself smiling widely at the woman.  Before she left the room, she turned back to Nora and added, “If you want, dear, you can leave your bags here and pop into Speedy’s next door for a tick.”  The doorbell rang again.  “Good sandwiches,” she whispered and ran upstairs to answer the door.

 

* * *

 

“Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson called as she opened the door.  He smiled widely at her as she opened her arms to take him into a hug.  Sherlock allowed it, even kissing her on the cheek, but he wondered why.  Since he’d moved into her upstairs flat, she’d stopped hugging him as often as she normally would.  Maybe it was because she was seeing him more often; maybe it was because he was now her lodger instead of just a family friend.  But by the look of her, she was excited about something; it was showing in her wide eyed grin and tight hug.

As he hugged her, Sherlock noted a different scent on Mrs Hudson than usual.  She normally wore the same Estée Lauder perfume but today there was something distinctly floral lingering on her.  Roses, maybe?

As she ushered Dr Watson into the foyer, he knew it couldn’t be fresh roses in the flat.  Mrs. Hudson made it clear to him that she hated roses once.

_Well, she had made it clear to her husband once when he brought a bouquet home after a particularly nasty…fight.  I merely overheard.  Some would call that cheating, but it isn’t; it’s listening._

Though the scent was still faint, it was strongest in front of the door to 221C. Sherlock peered at the door as though trying to see through it.  Interrupting Mrs Hudson and Dr Watson’s polite chatter, he announced, “Someone else is here.”

Mrs. Hudson stopped on the stairs abruptly, causing Dr Watson to stumble on his cane behind her. She touched his shoulder apologetically and whispered harshly towards Sherlock, “Oh yes, I’ve finally got someone interested in the basement flat.”

“ _That_ flat!?” Sherlock questioned condescendingly.  “That flat’s awful!  Damp and rot everywhere? Who’d seriously want that flat?” Mrs Hudson huffed her irritation at him for his biting comments.  Sherlock never did know when to stop himself, a trait carried over from his childhood.

Sherlock rolled his eyes at her and turned to open the door, wanting to investigate this new woman and why she’d ever want to rent such an awful flat.

_Woman?  Yes, woman.  Only a woman would walk around smelling like roses._

“Sherlock!” Mrs Hudson scolded as his hand gripped the knob.  “She’s only just arrived, please!  Don’t you dare go scaring her back off to the States!”

“Ugh, American…” Sherlock sighed, rolling his eyes childishly.  Mrs Hudson sighed sharply enough for Sherlock to notice.  She motioned for Sherlock to follow her and his guest; Dr Watson looked aloof as ever as he leaned on his cane, forgetting about his leg.

 

* * *

 

Nora explored the downstairs flat for a little while before she finally broke down and decided to go next door to the café.  Once she got a decent, hot meal in her, she’d decide on whether or not to take the flat.  Sure, the landlady was incredibly sweet and reminded of her grandmother.  Sure, she’d have a neighbor right upstairs to get to know and harass about his funny name.  Sure, she was in the heart of the city with the Tube and a park right outside her doorstep – but was it worth it for this flat?  She’d have so much work to do on it: stripping and cleaning and painting and carpeting.  The ceiling was incredibly low and being in the basement meant she’d hear every single thing that went on on the floors above her and the bedroom was a bit small for her liking.

But as she looked around, Nora began to envision making a life for herself in this place.  She could light a real fire on cold days and she could sit by the window and watch the sunset against the city.  When the weather was nice she could walk to the park and sit and fill up her sketchbook with drawings of beautiful strangers.  And when she felt adventurous, she could walk down the block to the Tube and ride until she got lost.  She even had a big enough wall space to recreate her mural like the one in her room back home.  And Mrs Hudson _had_ said she could do whatever she wanted as long as she took the flat…

But this was a big decision.  So first, a hot meal.  Then, she’d make her choice.

Nora could hear Mrs Hudson upstairs with two men.  One was the splendidly named Sherlock and the other was his mystery visitor.  Nora didn’t want to disturb them, so she decided to quietly sneak off to the café next door.  She climbed the stairs –

_Have to deal with this staircase too, what a mess…_

– and closed the door lightly behind her.

“Nora?” A voice called quizzically from behind her.  She vaguely recognized the voice but wasn’t able to place it until she saw the person it belonged to.

“Detective Inspector Lestrade!”  She called out excitedly.  “What are you doing here?”  She asked as she crossed the space between them to shake his hand.  They’d spoken on the phone several times and even on Skype once or twice, but this was the first official time they’d met.  Seeing him in front of her  now, she could sense that DI Lestrade commanded the attention of whatever room he was in.  He looked distinguished with his black hair speckled with grey and perfect white teeth.  On the phone, there was something laid back about him, like a man who never took himself too seriously.  Now, it was obvious that the thing DI Lestrade took seriously was his job.  Nora could sense something was array; the anxiety was written all over his face.

“Brilliant!” A young, enthusiastic voice cried out just before a small thud was heard against the floor.

Nora turned her head up the stairs toward the excited shouting going on in the apartment above her.  A confused look crossed her face as the disembodied voice kept on.

“Four serial suicides, and now a note!?  Oh, it’s Christmas!”

The look on Nora’s face went from confused to disgusted, feeling offended at the stranger’s comments that suicides were as happy as Christmas.  Nora was hoping, praying even, that this nut wasn’t the man Lestrade had mentioned to her earlier.

_Not this weirdo.  Please…don’t let it be him._

“You’ve not met Sherlock yet?” Lestrade asked her, watching an unexpected disappointment wash over her posture.

_Damn it._

“No,” she exhaled heavily, keeping her gaze fixed on the stairs.  She heard them creak and then stop, as if the person descending them hadn’t yet decided whether to do so or not.

“You’re not investigating him, are you?”  Nora asked, as a sickening feeling washed over her that only a killer would be excited about death. 

“What, Sherlock?  You think I’m investigating Sherlock?”  Lestrade chuckled quietly. 

“He is awfully excited about those suicides,” Nora said slowly, turning herself back to face the Detective Inspector once more.  It bothered her that Lestrade seemed to be more amused by her question than concerned.

“Sherlock consults for me sometimes,” Lestrade explained.  “When something seems impossible, Sherlock somehow finds me the answer.”  Nora furrowed her brow at the older man; was it her or did Lestrade seem proud of him, like the way a father sounds when describing his child’s accomplishments? 

She decided to take Lestrade at his word, but was still unsettled by what she’d heard.  She turned back towards the stairs again, anxiously wondering when this much-talked-of stranger would make himself known to her.

“Well, I wish there was time for proper introductions and the sort.  Or to even let you eat, you must be starving.”

Nora huffed and threw him a small smile, silently telling him he was right.

“But there’s been another suicide and I’d like for you to come along to the crime scene.  It’s a very high profile case and it’s best if you’re acquainted with it as soon as possible,” Lestrade explained.

Nora felt her face fall at the thought of having to postpone her dinner in order to stare at a dead body and be introduced to a slew of new people.  She found herself incredibly annoyed but tried not to let it show in her features; she smiled at Lestrade as best she could.

“Sorry,” Lestrade apologized.  He started making his way to door as he said, “Hey, I’ll have a sandwich waiting for you.  You like chicken?”  He asked with a slight impatience as he opened the door and made his way over the threshold.

Nora nodded politely.  Truthfully, she’d accept dog food right now if it meant she was getting food in her stomach.

“You can ride with Sherlock, he always follows in taxis.  Get to know him a little, see if you can stand him enough to rent the room below him.  He’s actually pretty funny when he doesn’t try to be.”  As he shut the door, Lestrade smiled coyly at her, as if he knew something very important but wasn’t even considering telling her yet.  He didn’t want to frighten her off.

“DAMN MY LEG!”

Nora heard a second male voice call out.  Again, she jerked her head up towards the yelling.  

_What the hell is going on up there?_

She heard footsteps on the stairs again, this time lighter.  Mrs Hudson appeared on the landing and flashed Nora a warm grin.

“Well, dear?”  She inquired.  “Did you have time to think it over?  I know it’s a lot to take in,” she cooed, trying her best to sound like she wasn’t expecting an immediate answer.

“I, um…” Nora felt overwhelmed with her fatigue and hunger and impending crime scene appearance and the thought of having to share a cab with a complete stranger who was apparently quite excited about death and suicide notes.  She ran her hand in her hair anxiously at the barrage of thoughts.

“Sorry, Mrs Hudson, I’ll skip the tea, pop out,” Nora heard the second man call out eagerly.  She turned to look at the speaker and saw both the men going to dash out of the flat hurriedly.  Well, she saw a tall, dark haired man walking hurriedly and a short, light haired man limping on a cane behind him.

“Both of you?”  Mrs Hudson asked, sounding disappointed that she wouldn’t be having company for her afternoon cup of tea.

“Impossible suicides?  Four of them?  There’s no point sitting at home when there’s finally something fun going on!”  Nora looked curiously at the man she assumed was this Sherlock, who seemed far too pleased at four people’s deaths.  And yet, she softened as she watched Sherlock bend down to kiss Mrs Hudson firmly on her cheek.  The morbidity surrounding his enthusiasm coupled with his playful nature around his landlady left Nora with the sense that this man was a complex and unknowable thing.  She didn’t quite know what to think of him and she found herself desperate to study him and make him a featured character in her sketchbook.

Nora made a small noise behind Mrs Hudson in an attempt to remind everyone that she was in the room.  It wasn’t as though she was hiding in the corner and she began to feel offended that though Sherlock was facing directly at her, he didn’t think to greet her.

“Oh boys, This is…”

“I’m Nora,” she interrupted rather rudely, removing the glove from her right hand and extending it out to Sherlock.  “I’ve heard a lot about you.”  Her voice was rushed, tainted with exhaustion and annoyance.  It wasn’t intentional.  Not towards him.

He was handsome she thought, her eyes observing him as she stepped out from behind Mrs Hudson. His hair was curly and dark; perhaps the darkest shade of brown before black, and unbelievably unkempt.  Too unruly for a man of his age, which Nora suspected somewhere in his mid-thirties.  She couldn't quite the place the color of his eyes, somewhere between ice blue and emerald green. It was a color she didn't know and she thought she’d seem them all.  His cheekbones were sharp, strikingly sharp and they were incomparable to any other man she had ever met.

 His expression was blank and yet somehow he exuded irritation in waves.  Nora felt smaller and smaller under his gaze.  He shifted his eyes down to her outstretched hand and Nora slowly curled her fingers into a fist when she saw his lip curl into a slight sneer at it.

Stunned, she shifted her eyes at his companion who was leaning absentmindedly against his steel cane.

“Uh, John Watson,” he said politely as he offered her his own hand.  Nora stared at him for a second, trying to decide how genuine the offer of civility was before extending hers to him in return.

“Nora Luvalle,” she said flatly, unimpressed and offended.

John Watson nodded curtly at her and looked back at Sherlock who was still staring intently at Nora.  She felt herself shrink and had to force herself not to yell at him for being so rude or who the fuck he thought he was or just what the hell was his problem anyway.

He was studying her and she felt her cheeks redden as the thought entered her head that this was what it must have felt like when she observed those around her.  Several silent seconds were passing between them at an excruciatingly slow pace and she knew his thoughts were undoubtedly spiteful. When she studied someone, her eyes were wide and soft, observing them for what they were…crooked smiles, spontaneous laughs, the tuck of a lower lip and the creases around their mouths, the countless stories painted on their faces.  He was not looking at her this way.  His eyes were narrow, focused, and harsh.  Judging every single inch of her being with his penetrating, icy blue…or was it an emerald green gaze.  Now that it was her turn to be scrutinized, and although she welcomed it, she would have given anything to know what he was thinking of her.

Sherlock, on the other hand, couldn’t be bothered with her.  He eyed her quickly and looked her up and down a couple of times.  As he did with most everyone he met, he deduced her in only a few moments. He took what he heard from Mrs Hudson, looked at how she presented herself to the outside world, every inch of her being and saw what she didn’t realize she was putting on display. He even observed what she tried so hard to hide.  Like it always happened, a flash of random words flooded his head and he took note of all of them.

 _American._  
Midwest accent.  
Early twenties.  
20/20 Vision.  
Braces for 6. No, 7 years.  
Artist.  
Painter.  
Right handed.  
Dancer for 10+ Years.  
Youngest Child.

He squinted at her as he took in all her features.  She wasn’t beautiful.  She wasn’t breathtaking, gorgeous, jaw dropping, or even remotely stunning.  She wasn’t attractive by any definition of the word. She couldn’t have been more than few inches over five feet.  Too short.  She wasn’t fat, but she wasn’t slender and thin, just healthy.  Average.

Her hips were too wide for her waist, giving her already short legs an even shorter appearance that looked odd with her wide feet.  Her skin was pale on her chest but slightly tan in the arms and face. Bland, uninspiring brown eyes that were far too large for her freckled nose.  Tiny scars from adolescence and diseases scared her upper cheekbones.

The state of her exposed hand didn’t improve her overall appearance in the slightest.  It looked like it might have been beautiful a while ago, long before her teenage years, but was now covered in hideous calluses that no woman her age should have had if she would have had proper training in her hobby. Given the black stain made up of charcoal, ink, and lead on the underside of her left glove, it left little to the imagination about the appearance of the hand underneath.  Her hair was a decent length, stopping just past her shoulders but the lackluster color matched her eyes and it was clearly evident based on the frayed and split ends, she had absolutely no idea how to take care of it.  And if she did, it wasn’t a priority.

 She was ordinary.  She was boring.

And on top of that, she’d “heard a lot” about him.  Funny choice of words for someone who’d only just arrived in London.  Mrs Hudson wouldn’t have spoken ill of him; for whatever reason she’d been fond of him since he was a child.

No doubt then she had spoken to Lestrade as he made his way out of the flat a few minutes before. Sherlock had noted voices down here in the foyer when he was standing on the landing, but he’d been waiting to hear what John was saying to Mrs Hudson, not what Lestrade might have been saying to the mystery woman looking at the horrific downstairs flat.

What was it they’d talked about then?  Had he advised against renting the flat because of Sherlock?  But he and Lestrade had been…acquaintances of sorts for years now.  Considering all that Lestrade had done for him, he couldn’t imagine that he would ever speak against Sherlock to a complete stranger.  But maybe he had.  Maybe deep down, he was just like all the others.

He must have brought Donovan then and told her to wait downstairs.  Lestrade knew of Sherlock’s contempt for his second-in-command and, though they’d never talked about it, he was sure Lestrade also knew of her torment of him. The constant “freaks” she spat his way did little else but aggravate him and truthfully, cut into him harshly the way a dull knife would.  Over and over.  Again and again.

 _Freak._  
Freak.  
Freak.

That word echoed in his ears as he leered at this stranger and continued to judge her appearance.

This woman was no different.  
This stranger was just like all the others.  
Another dull knife.

_Freak._

Her clothes were wrinkled and stale, obviously bought secondhand from some broken down thrift shop. But she tried to dress her outfit up with nice jewelry and accessories that were all new or from just last season.  She had a sparkling pair of cubic zirconia earrings –

  _Of course cubic zirconia, no one her age or salary bracket would have real diamonds._

 – that were just the right size for her ears.  A sterling silver necklace in the shape of a heart hung delicately against her sweater.  It was something she wore constantly as it was scratched, but had recently been cleaned.  She wore a chunky yellow scarf –

_Must have been colder where she came from._

 – that she had untied and draped around her neck. Matching gloves stuck out of the pocket of her heavy red wool coat. The whiskey colored purse she was carrying was also new, not yet worn around the long handles.  It was large and looked like there were several bulky items in it, at least two books, a magazine, a notebook, and a bottle of water.

_Not only is she new in London, she arrived today._

 Sherlock looked down to her boots and saw that they were this season’s style but were water and salt stained.

_A place with snow.  Lots of snow._

Before him was a woman of contradictions; old and new mashed into one person and not quite successfully.  She looked as though someone had tried their best to dress her the way they wanted to but seemed to lose interest in the backswing.

“Sherlock!”  Mrs Hudson whispered harshly at him to snap him out of his reverie.  He turned to look at her, his irritated expression unwavering.

“Look at you, all happy, it’s not decent,” she reprimanded.  His expression did a 180 and went from snide to eager in an instant.  He had wasted enough of his time on this woman, this boring, dimwitted stranger and quickly decided that she was no longer worth it.

“Who cares about decent?  The game, Mrs Hudson, is on!”  Sherlock exclaimed as he rushed out of the door, not giving this stranger another thought.  John Watson glanced back at Nora who had a thoroughly offended look across her face; he turned his head in embarrassment when she caught his eyes and followed Sherlock out the door as quickly as his leg would allow.

 Nora let out a choked groan as she watched the men run out of the flat.  She wanted to say something, but she was so stunned at this meeting.  Two of the rudest people she’d ever met in her life and all in the span of an hour?

 This was too much.

 Suddenly, Nora realized when the door shut that she was supposed to have shared that taxi.  Without realizing, she yelled, “Hey, wait!” and made a sprint for the door.  Just as she was going to leave, she saw a completely confused Mrs Hudson standing in the middle of the room with her hands in the air.

Without a moment's thought, Nora yelled, “I’ll take the apartment!" and slammed the door behind her. 

 She saw the cab just as it was pulling away from the curb.   Nora tried calling out to the men inside, but there was no use.  She couldn't see Sherlock and even if she had, she knew he wouldn't have held the cab for her.  She could only make out John's silhouette, who wasn't paying attention because he was looking at his leg.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a conversation between friends about what it would be like if there was a romantic interest for Sherlock Holmes. Then it spiraled into several hours long conversations analyzing characters, episodes, the writing, and even the fandom itself. There's so much in store for this fic and we can't wait to share it with everyone! 
> 
> So read, review (PLEASE!), and welcome to Falling.


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